


Whatever.

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Bad Days, Complicated Relationships, Coulson always supports Daisy, Dive Bars, Drinking, F/M, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, Past Relationship(s), Secret Relationship, Sexual Tension, Slow Dancing, Undressing, motel sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 20:45:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6393175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The idea of Daisy and Coulson having had a fling between S2 and S3 kind of intrigued me so I wrote this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever.

#

Things don’t go to plan.

In fact, they go so far from to plan, that she’s actually getting worried about the face he’s making about the face she’s making.

“For once,” she says, after a long moment, hugging herself with her arms. “I’d like things to go to plan.”

“I’m sorry,” he replies, his voice full of shared disappointment, his expression still a bit stunned at what they just witnessed.

As it escaped.

And they _are_ sharing in this.  The _thing_ is Inhuman, and it’s kind of in the guy he killed on the alien planet.

He’s probably beating himself up as much as she is right now.

“Buy you a drink?” he sighs, like there is no other good option.

She shrugs and looks up at him, and he’s looking back with a very schooled and neutral expression.

It kind of makes her hopeful.

“Sure.”

 

#

He’s being very charming and bought the whole bottle of whiskey as they sit in a dark corner, and he pours when her glass gets too empty, like the gentleman he is.

They’re not talking about SHIELD _at all_.

In fact, she’s hoping that they both drink enough to make one of them bold enough to break their arrangement.

At least for one night, to pretend SHIELD doesn’t exist between them at all.

“This song is so morose,” she laughs, then pauses, holding her mouth open as she listens closely to the lyrics.

Then she laughs again, as he lowers his eyes, and swirls the liquor in his glass.

She’s enjoying giving him a good teasing.

“It’s sentimental,” he corrects, in a mock-hurt tone. “I like sentimental.”

Actually, it’s miserable.  She remembers it from late nights in Texas dive bars when people were drunk and sad.

He grins a bit ruefully at the lyrics. _Hoping she'd come back again_

“How do you know it?” she asks him, curious.  Phil doesn’t seem like the George Jones sort.

“My dad,” he says quietly, meeting her eyes and blinking at her slowly through his lashes.  “My mother listened to it. A lot.  After he was gone.”

It fades to a distant look as he finishes the rest of his glass.

She takes the bottle to pour him another, and more for herself as well, remembering the last time something liked this happened. It was just about a week after she had said goodbye to her father.

Around the same time, she recalls, that Phil got fitted with his first prosthetic.

She was having a horrible day, and it turned out he was, too.  And then they found each other, and tried to make it better.

Not that she can say for certain, but she’s pretty sure Andrew figured out something happened, with his whole _reckless and desperate_ comment.

He’s not exactly wrong.  About that or the other stuff.

In order to run SHIELD, they needed to be able to focus, and not let things get too personal.

Which, they realized, the morning after, was not going to be possible with them.  With everything going on with each of them and where they were at.

If SHIELD lost one or the other, they could still make it.  But not both of them.  Especially with May gone.

And there was so much to do.

It was frustrating and heartbreaking if they had let it go there, but they’d been so close for so long, they were convinced this would work.

They agreed to run their sides of the operation, focus on results, support each other that way.  On building her team and getting out in front of the wave of new Inhumans.

She changed her name.  Not because of that, but it made their agreement feel more solid.

And then, when the pressure piled on, she started talking to Lincoln on the phone late at night.  Just wanting a…connection.

Avoiding the temptation to turn back towards each other.  And then…Roz.

“We need a better song,” she says, pushing past him to get out of the booth.

She feels his hand catch her wrist. “Hey.”

This is kind of his way of making a move, she’s pretty sure.  She thinks he’s been wanting to touch her since after his second drink.

His eyes seem a little glassy and she wonders if he might actually be a bit drunk.

“C’mon,” she tells him, working her wrist around his.  “You can help.”

She pulls him up out of the booth and behind her footsteps.

 

#

They’re flipping through the jukebox selection as he points out his favorite ones, standing alongside her with his arm propped up against the machine.

She’s bent in half concentrating by staring closely at the selections and pressing the flip button when she feels his finger hook through a loop in her jeans, tugging her hip against his as he lets his hand rest on her waist.

“ _All My Love_ is good,” he says in low tones, casually.

“Oh, we’re doing classic rock now,” she answers, biting on her bottom lip.

A little thrill goes through her as she stands and sways into him, fitting her back against his chest like they’re more than just old friends.

He moves in closer, and smells a little like his own sweat and the liquor and she wishes they were very much alone right now.

But they haven’t agreed to anything just yet.

“Something we can dance to?” she asks, tilting her head up to look at him from the corner of her sight, but also so she brushes her hair against his cheek.

“Yeah,” he tells her, like he’s drawing a breath. She feels him shiver against her slightly.

She presses the buttons and turns around so she’s facing him, leaning back against the jukebox.  Waiting for the first few lines, to watch the smile slowly spread on his face.

_We can be heroes, just for one day_

She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him close.

_We can be us, just for one day_

“Good choice,” he says, putting his forehead against hers as they start to move together.

_#_

“Wait,” he says, holding a finger up as she swipes the key card through the motel room’s door.

“Are you gonna outline rules?” she answers, anticipating this.

“ _No_ ,” he replies, like he’s slightly offended.  “We’ve been trying to do that this whole time, and look where it got us.”

“Then what-“

She doesn’t finish because he bends to pick her up in his arms and groans a little as he steadies himself.

“Now we can go in,” he tells her, seeming a little impressed with his efforts, as she laughs when he maneuvers to kick open the door.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, shaking her head when he finally sets her down again, as her nerves start to catch up with her.

“Can you blame me?” he asks, moving in closer to her, until the backs of her legs bump against the bed. 

He takes her face in his hands as he kisses her more thoroughly than he did in the dive bar.  She feels her face getting hot again, surprised by how quickly all the emotions she’s been bottling up come right to the surface.

How badly she still wants him.  It wasn’t just that they were lonely and sad.

It was… _this_.

She manages to slip out of her leather jacket, and get his button down off of him without popping any of the buttons, even though it was touch-and-go for a moment there.

“Do you mean that?” she suddenly stops, when his hands start to lift at the bottom of her tank.

“No SHIELD stuff.  Not tonight.” He caresses her face with his right hand, letting it rest on the spot where her neck and shoulder meet, sliding his thumb over it.  “I’ve missed you.  So much.”

She knows he means it.  She can hear it in his voice; it’s clear in his eyes, his touch.

“ _Phil_.”  It has a specific, lingering effect that makes him look at her like he’s hypnotized, and her fingers stop on the scar over his heart, about to make a request.

“Whatever you want,” he promises.

She kisses him hard, and desperately, remembering the intensity of this between them the last time.  The way it would catch like fire and then slow to burning cinders.

“You,” she says, twisting her fingers in his hair, as he groans against her mouth.

“I want you.”

 

#

“Shit,” he mutters, turning over to pick the buzzing sat phone off the nightstand.

He answers, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Go.”

She turns toward his back and presses her fingers along his spine, as he says “uh huh” and then “agreed” and hangs up and sighs. Then lays back against the bed.

“Mack,” she starts.  She could tell by the tone of the voice coming through the other end.

“Yeah,” he nods, turning his face to look at her.  She can tell there’s a lot going on inside that head of his.

“Nothing too serious?” She doesn’t think so, but he’s frowning right now and they need to clear the air.

“This-” she goes on, pointing between them, sitting up, drawing up the sheets around her.

“Daisy,” he cuts in, pleading, sitting up himself, but reaching towards her with his hand, as it lands on her wrist, like he doesn’t want her to break the spell.

“Needs to happen more often,” she adds, poking at his bare leg with her toe. 

“Whatever you want,” he repeats, just like he did last night, with relief in his voice.

She knows it’s not because he doesn’t care.  It’s that he’ll support her, whatever she decides.

It’s why she’s always loved him, whatever they’ve been to each other.

“Breakfast?” she suggests, giving him a slow morning kiss.

Until his mouth turns into a lazy, satisfied smirk. 

“Okay.”


End file.
